


One Being

by edlweiss



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/F, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:42:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,013
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26924551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edlweiss/pseuds/edlweiss
Summary: The Doctor and Yaz are captured and wake up only to be commanded to fight to the death for their captor's enjoyment. The Doctor hopes her plan to get them out works, but it may be more complicated then she or Yaz could have imagined.
Relationships: Thirteenth Doctor/Yasmin Khan
Comments: 25
Kudos: 71





	1. The Gambit

Yaz blinked her way out of unconsciousness to find the Doctor hovering over her in concern. The time lord’s face relaxed when she saw Yaz’s eyes open. She was lying on a hard dirt floor; she could feel the grit against her fingers.

“Good. I were worried there for a bit. Y’r alright, but we’re in a spot of trouble. Can you sit up?” The Doctor helped her lift herself up and Yaz grimaced, rubbing her right shoulder, just below her collarbone.

“Ow,” she managed. 

“Yes, definitely, ow for sure. I’ve one too.” The Doctor let go of Yaz’s hand and pointed at her own neck. An angry red welt was there just at the crux of her throat. “Looks like a tracker. Not a bomb, this time, though honestly, dunno if it’s better or worse,” she said.

“Where are we?” Yaz asked. She honestly couldn’t tell, because they were sitting in near-dark, and the walls all looked like black dirt. There was a sliver of light under a door to her left, and veins of dim light running over an organic-looking ceiling, but beyond that, no markers of where they might be.

“I’ve no idea. Whatever jumped us, got us quick. I couldn’t see anything before I blacked out,” The Doctor said, ruefully. They had been looking into a distress call on an unnamed planet when they’d been attacked.

“We’ll figure it out,” Yaz whispered. Why she spoke so low, she didn’t know, but she grabbed for the Doctor’s hand and landed on her wrist. She squeezed briefly.

“And by ‘we’, of course I mean you, I’m rubbish in situations like this.” Yaz smiled at her, the tracker against her collarbone giving a dull throb.

“That’s not at all true and you know it,” the Doctor huffed at her, laying a hand atop Yaz’s.

“Prisoners will stand and be made ready!” a voice cried, startling the women, and a door that wasn’t there before opened to their right. Yaz drew in a sharp breath as a huge, burly guard entered the room. On Yaz’s quick once over they looked like they had four arms, three legs and a very sour disposition.

The Doctor eyed them warily and then pulled Yaz to her feet. Yaz listed woozily and then found her footing. The Doctor held her steady until she was sure Yaz could stand on her own and then turned to face their captor.

“What’s all this then?” The Doctor said, moving to position herself in front of Yaz and directly in front of the guard. She tilted her head up at the guard’s face, effecting a happy-go-lucky air. Yaz knew it was an act. 

The guard responded by raising what looked like a cattle prod and touching it to the Doctor’s tracker. There was a loud sparking bang and the Doctor cried out, folding in on herself and grasping at her neck.

Yaz gasped and moved to help but the Doctor held out a palm to stay her. Yaz’s hands clenched at her side in helplessness.

The guard’s arms were almost hypnotic in their multitasking; they grabbed the Doctor by the arm while holding the prod and pressing a button set into the recess of one wall. They also tapped a finger behind their ear and said, “they’re ready, Magistrate.” The door on the opposite side of the room groaned as it rolled open. Yaz flinched against the glaring light that bled into the room as the door rose into the ceiling.

The guard grabbed Yaz by the collar of her jacket, did the same for the Doctor, and tossed them unceremoniously out into the bright light.

They tumbled out into a bare space, covered in what felt like rough white sand amidst a veritable explosion of sound. A thousand voices rose in shouts and jeers around them. 

Yaz felt a scrape on her cheek as she landed against the sand. She stood quickly and spun around, trying to take in their surroundings, looking for any escape. The Doctor was rising to her feet, brushing herself off and doing the same. There were high red walls on all sides of them, going up impossibly far, disappearing into darkness. The structure was a small oval shape about 30 yards at its length.

Both women jumped, startled when they were met with a deafening roar. It came from the blackness beyond the high walls, from some unseen legion of watchers.

“Welcome, contenders!” A voice boomed at them from all sides. Yaz and the Doctor both clamped hands over their ears.

“You have been chosen to participate in this most auspicious of contests,” the voice continued. Yaz and the Doctor looked at each other, sharing an ‘oh no’ glance.

“These are the rules,” the voice continued. Yaz watched the Doctor. She was listening intently. Yaz did the same.

“You have been brought here to fight to the death, until only one being remains,” the voice intoned, and Yaz’s stomach dropped. She felt her knees turn to jelly but held herself up. The Doctor would want it that way. She swallowed heavily and looked to the Doctor, because it was where she always looked, and because she needed to know what the Doctor would do. The Doctor lifted her hand at her side in a surreptitious ‘stay’ gesture as if to say _Hold on and listen. Don’t panic. Let me think._ Yaz didn’t move a muscle, watching her for the next sign.

A cheer had erupted at the voice’s opening address. It continued, “Two beings must enter, but only one being may leave. This is your challenge, The Doctor and Yasmin Khan! A fight for your very lives!” The voices in the audience yelled in response, clearly thrilled.

Yaz’s heart sank. Tears sprung up in her eyes at the thought of having to hurt or be hurt by the one thing she loved most in all the universe, even if she hadn’t and couldn’t confess it to the other woman. 

“Doctor!” she called, but the Doctor waved her hand again at Yaz to be silent. 

“Well, Yaz and me, we don’t think we’ll take that challenge,” she spoke to the disembodied announcer in a soft, low voice. _She’s trying to quiet the crowd_ , Yaz thought in wonder. And it was working. The din of the crowd was dwindling.

“Ta very much all the same,” the Doctor continued, shoving her hands in her pockets as she walked in a tight circle. “So we’ll just be on our way, if y’ don’t mind.” It wasn’t a question. The Doctor took a step toward Yaz.

The voice bellowed, “if you do not, you will be executed and another will take your place.” It sounded smug as the crowd’s cheers intensified again.

The Doctor’s shoulders slumped for a second and she looked to Yaz. She looked lost and Yaz started to move toward her.

The Doctor’s eyes narrowed over Yaz’s shoulder and Yaz turned to see an insignia on one of the walls, low against the sand. It looked like two full circles and three hard lines drawn across the center. She spun back to the Doctor to see the familiar mischievous light of awareness and a plan shining in her eyes.

The Doctor looked at Yaz for a long moment, a complicated look flitting over her features. Yaz lifted her arms in a ‘what do we do now?’ gesture and the Doctor sighed. 

She yelled up, without breaking her eye contact with Yaz, “give us the terms again, yeah?”

The voice answered back gravely, “two beings must enter, but only one being must leave”.

The Doctor nodded to herself and yelled back, “This is Thrax then, isn’t it?” She squinted up into the bright lights.

The voice responded, sounding slightly surprised, but recovered its pomposity quickly. “Yes, you are on Thraxian soil, and have the privilege of performing this ritual for the enjoyment and entertainment of the glorious Thrax!” The cheering in the audience reached a fever pitch.

The Doctor nodded again, clenching her teeth. She turned to Yaz and walked toward her. Yaz tensed for a moment, panicked at the thought of having to fight. The Doctor shook her head subtly, stepping up close to Yaz. The audience booed loudly. 

The voice interjected, “you have one Thraxian filo-moment to comply.” The voice lingered on the pause dramatically, “and then the choice will be made for you.” The crowd jeered hungrily.

The Doctor pressed her mouth to Yaz’s ear. “Yaz, do you trust me?” she whispered urgently. Yaz muttered a quick and strident ‘yes’ into the Doctor’s hair.

“Then just repeat after me, and follow my lead. I’ve an idea. I think it should work.” she blew the words softly into Yaz’s ear, and Yaz shivered. The Doctor took a small step away from her and Yaz shook her head imperceptibly. 

“Yaz,” the Doctor began, just loud enough for her voice to carry a bit. The audience’s cheers quieted, waiting on the next moments. She reached for Yaz’s hands with her own, clasping them. 

“Yasmin Khan, I love you,” she said and waited, watching Yaz. Yaz’s mouth dropped open and she stared at the Doctor, completely dumbfounded. The Doctor raised her eyebrows expectantly. _Oh, repeat after her!_

“Doctor...I, I love you,” Yaz managed, though saying what she’d wanted to say for so long out loud in this moment was bizarre, and rushed, and so hard. The Doctor squeezed her hands. Yaz didn’t know if she was supposed to repeat that gesture back, but she did anyway, and gave a squeeze in return.

“Yaz, I marry you,” The Doctor continued. The audience started up chattering and whispering, and what sounded like shock ran through the unseen stands. _Wait, what?!_ The Doctor bobbed her head slightly, encouraging her, her face impassive.

“Doctor, I marry you,” Yaz strangled out. This was approaching a level of weird beyond even what they were used to. The Doctor smiled at her then, all bright and satisfied, and Yaz blurted out a confused, happy laugh, because really what else was there to do?

The Doctor’s smile vanished and was replaced with something much more solemn. She pulled Yaz slowly to her, and Yaz had a hard time processing anything more as the Doctor pressed their bodies together and brought her lips to Yaz’s. She kissed her, holding her soft mouth against Yaz’s. Yaz was faintly aware of the crowd noise erupting into a happy roar, but couldn’t spare more than a passing moment’s thought for it. Because the Doctor was _kissing_ her. The time lord wrapped her arms around Yaz’s back and tightened her embrace, her lips moving against Yaz’s gently, deepening the kiss. If anything the audience fervor climbed in intensity. Yaz’s limbs all but melted.

After a long moment, the Doctor released Yaz, still holding onto her right hand. Her cheeks were tinged with a faint pink flush. She turned and addressed the air. Yaz panted out a startled breath.

“In accordance with Thrax law, Yasmin and I have made a declaration of love and marriage in a public forum, and have sealed the union with a kiss. We are now, by your laws,” she paused for emphasis, “one being.” She looked back at Yaz, her eyes soft and sad. Yaz didn’t know how to interpret it, but impetuously, she raised their joined hands to her mouth and kissed the Doctor’s hand. The audience noise level ratcheted up even more, and this time the Doctor laughed, shaking her head.

The loudspeaker voice boomed out, “Enough!” But the audience didn’t stop, cheering raucously.

A resigned sigh floated over the speaker. “Very well. Guards! Remove this... _one being_...and take them to a room. Make sure the newlyweds have every comfort we afford to new unions. I want to make sure of their _devotion_ to Thrax law for myself.”

The Doctor frowned, but allowed herself and Yaz to be led out of the arena by two rough-looking four-armed guards. She clung to Yaz’s hand, her grip hard. Yaz kept her eyes on the Doctor, bewildered by the frenzied pace of what happened over the past few minutes. _Married?_


	2. The Gilded Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the arena and the Doctor's split-second decision.

The armed guards periodically shoved The Doctor and Yaz hard from behind as they half-walked, half-stumbled down an unassuming, dark corridor. A couple times the Doctor tried to turn and protest but she was met each time with a touch of the electric prod to her neck. Even the Doctor took the hint and kept quiet after the last time left her practically panting in pain. The skin around the embedded tracker looked irritated and red, and Yaz itched to reach up and lay a cool hand over it. Instead, she kept her hand locked in the Doctor’s. 

They were brought to a plain-looking door and the bigger of the guards unlocked the door and pushed it open at the same time, which both fascinated and bewildered Yaz with its efficiency. The guard looked down at her, caught her staring at his hands, and snarled. He grabbed the Doctor and lifted the prod up again, buzzing it against the Doctor’s neck a final time. The Doctor let out an anguished moan that split Yaz’s heart in two.

“Hey!” she yelled. “Enough! You're hurting her!” She glared at the guard. The guard turned toward her and he moved so fast Yaz didn’t realize she’d been slapped until she was looking back over her shoulder and tears pricked her eyes. Searing heat exploded across her face and she turned back in shock. The Doctor straightened and started to say something, but the guard just wrenched Yaz and the Doctor by their upper arms and flung them through the open door. They fell in a tangled heap, and the back of Yaz's head connected painfully with the floor, the Doctor landing heavily on top of her. The guards laughed and the door clicked shut without another word.

Yaz groaned and let out a shaky exhale. The Doctor didn’t move immediately, just breathed slowly against Yaz’s neck. 

Yaz placed a hand tenderly on her shoulder, rubbing it in an attempt to soothe, and to take her own attention from the throbbing at the back of her skull and the blazing pain on her cheek.

“Doctor?” she said. The Doctor lifted her head and looked at Yaz, and Yaz suddenly realized how completely the time lord lay against her. She could feel the frantic beat of her hearts slamming in her chest. The Doctor’s thighs bracketed Yaz, effectively straddling her. Her mouth was very close, and Yaz let her eyes slip closed briefly as the puffs of her breath ghosted over her face. The Doctor’s eyebrows were pinched together in hurt and worry, and some other emotion Yaz couldn’t quite parse.

“Yaz,” she finally said, and tried to roll off the younger woman. Both cringed in pain, and the Doctor pulled herself into a tight ball on the floor for a beat before sitting up. “Right, that went well.” 

“Your neck,” Yaz said, kneeling and reaching over to touch the increasingly troubling-looking spot at the base of the Doctor’s throat. The Doctor hissed at the contact and swayed away from Yaz’s hand.

“Oh! Sorry,” she whispered, startled at the reaction. The Doctor usually blustered in the face of pain.

“Y’have a pretty bad cut on your face, Yaz,” the Doctor deflected, her fists tightening in barely-suppressed rage. She brought her own hand up to Yaz’s face, probing the area cautiously. The sting there was shocking as it flared, and Yaz let out a hiss of her own. 

“We need to find something to clean that with,” the Doctor continued, trying to stand and look around the room at the same time, which didn’t work too well, and she sank weakly back to the floor. “In, in a minute or two, that is. Gettin’ a read on the floor first.” She huffed out an exhausted sigh.

Yaz reached behind her head and touched her scalp, feeling a lump already forming. She squinted through the throbbing pain and glanced around the room.

“Oh, what in the--?” was all she managed to say, completely at a loss for words. The room they had been dumped in was, in one word, luxurious. The opulence of it was so at odds with the way they had just been manhandled that Yaz felt dizzy. The room was large and had a rather magnificent-looking four-poster bed, a couple wingback chairs angled around a substantial fireplace, a small kitchen and bar, and a huge wardrobe. The room was lit with cozy, warm light, and conceivably, there was a big window behind heavy, rich-looking drapes. Another door looked like it had to be a washroom. Yaz shook her head in wonder, and then immediately stopped when the motion caused the pain in her head to grow. A brief wave of nausea washed over her.

“Ow,” she said again. “‘Ere, let me try.” She stood up slowly, her legs shaking, and wobbled to the closed door. She was right; it was a washroom, an obscenely spacious and glitzy one at that. Yaz’s eyebrows climbed and she stepped gingerly to the sink - a giant bowl carved out of what looked like expensive black stone. She spared a quick glance at her reflection - a red slash crossed her cheek and the area around it was starting to swell and bruise. She also had a small split in her lip. When had she gotten that? Must’ve been from the slap. She hadn’t felt it when she kissed the Doctor. Yaz cursed to herself. _Shit_. She’d kissed the Doctor. Or the Doctor had kissed _her_. And it’d been amazing. And now they were...what exactly? Yaz reeled.

Sand was all in her hair and coated the same side of her face that had borne the brunt of her fall in the arena and she tried to brush some of it away. 

She methodically looked through drawers for medical supplies. She hit the jackpot on the third one she pulled out, finding a big first aid kit. She snapped open the lid and lifted it briefly, spotting a veritable windfall of seemingly helpful items. She closed the lid and came back out, dropping the kit on the ridiculously plush blood red duvet on the bed. She turned to the Doctor.

She was still sat on the floor, and her skin looked very pale. Her eyes were shut and she was breathing deeply, clearly trying to regain some control of herself. Yaz frowned in sympathy and stepped to her, crouching at her side.

“Think y’can stand? Just need to get y’to the bed,” she murmured, both for the Doctor’s sake, and because she had a feeling any loud sounds would set off the headache to end all headaches. She could feel her pulse under the wound on her face.

The Doctor nodded, her eyes still closed. She let Yaz grip her elbow and sling her other arm over her shoulder, in a half-hug. They rose, the Doctor groaning with each motion. Yaz moved them clumsily to the bed and set the Doctor down as gently as she could. 

Sitting down on the Doctor’s left side, Yaz folded her right leg up so it pressed against the Doctor’s thigh. She examined the various creams in the kit and decided on one that read like it had numbing properties, was anti-inflammatory, and redness reducing. She dropped some onto her fingers and turned to the Doctor’s neck. She glanced up and met the Doctor’s eyes, tucking her hair back behind her ear out of the way. The Doctor’s throat bobbed up and down at the contact. 

Yaz moved her other hand to rest lightly on the other side of the Doctor’s neck. She swept her thumb back and forth there. The Doctor watched her steadily as Yaz leaned in and rubbed the lotion in with the barest of touches. Yaz was waiting for the Doctor to yelp at the contact but the woman let out a relieved sigh. She kept applying cream until she’d covered the whole area. The redness was already going away. The Doctor grabbed Yaz’s hand and held it in her lap.

“Thanks, Yaz. Good choice. Already feels loads better.” She squeezed Yaz’s hand briefly. “Now let me see to your cheek. Looks like a good med kit, at least,” she rummaged with one hand, keeping Yaz’s tight in her other.

“S’alright, Doctor. Doesn’t even hurt that much now, though I’m sure I look a right picture. I think the back of my head hurts more from when we landed in this...uhh, prison cell? Weirdest prison I’ve ever seen. Where the hell even are we? And what happ--” The Doctor squeezed her hand again and gave the subtlest shake of her head. She leaned in as if to examine the cut on Yaz’s cheek, but kept going, shifting to whisper in her ear. Her hair tickled Yaz’s neck.

“I would bet this room’s been bugged. We’ll talk properly soon, yeah? I’m so sorry ‘bout all this,” with that she shifted away, catching Yaz’s eye as she released her hand and pulled a wipe from the kit. “This might sting a bit,” she muttered, and winced with Yaz when she touched the astringent to her cheek. It did sting at first, and then a cool balm flooded its way across her face and Yaz let out a surprised, pleased sound.

“That’s,” she sucked in some air, “that’s nice. Wow.” Her eyes fluttered shut and she pushed her head against the Doctor’s hand. The Doctor paused for a second and then continued wiping softly.

“There. Much better. Don’t think I even need to dress it. Maybe I’ll sneak some of these into my pocket for later. Oh, your lip.” Yaz opened her eyes to see the time lord’s face, so near. Her lovely hazel eyes focused intently on the cut in Yaz’s bottom lip. She lifted the wipe still in her hand and dragged it lightly over the split. Yaz watched as the Doctor licked her own lips. Her mouth was mere inches from Yaz’s now and Yaz hitched in a short breath. The wipe fell out of the Doctor’s hand and she kept moving her thumb over the healed cut, dragging down on Yaz’s lip. Yaz’s mouth opened under the ministration and the thumb slipped slightly into her mouth. The Doctor’s gaze drifted up to Yaz’s eyes and back down - Yaz could feel her warm breath on her lips and let out a quiet whimper. 

The Doctor shook herself at the sound and let her hand fall from Yaz’s face. She cleared her throat and busied herself with tidying the aid kit. _What was that?_ Yaz's nerves hummed excitedly and she shifted her leg against the Doctor’s thigh. Heat bloomed in her stomach and pulsed between her legs.

“Don’t suppose there’s an ice pack in there, hey?” Yaz said, cautiously touching the back of her skull. The Doctor saw and reached behind Yaz’s head. The motion brought the Doctor back into Yaz’s space, and Yaz tried not to drift toward her in turn. The Doctor glanced to her face again, her eyes dark, and then her attention shifted as she clocked the raised lump under her fingers. She clicked her tongue in frustration, found something that looked a bit like a cold pack. She shook it briskly and laid it against the bump. Yaz hummed in relief. The Doctor kept the pack pressed there, effectively cradling Yaz’s head, her upper arm resting on Yaz’s shoulder. Now Yaz was the one who couldn’t stop staring at the Doctor’s mouth.

“Doctor?” Yaz questioned. 

She didn’t get to say anything more as the door to the room swung open and a tall, lean figure came striding into the room on her three legs, her four hands folded against her chest. She was dressed smartly in a uniform of sorts, pale yellow against her dark skin, her eyes a luminous blue. She was far removed in her dress and carriage from the awful guards. Something vaguely resembling epaulets sat on her shoulders, and the high collar of her suit had the same insignia that had been etched into the arena wall. Two circles and three lines across them. 

The Doctor stood, all trace of her earlier pain either gone or tucked safely away. She stepped slightly in front of Yaz. Ever the protector. Her jaw was set and angry.

“Magistrate, I presume?” she said, folding her own arms, mirroring the other’s stance. “Your guards have a funny way of, how did y’put it, _affording every comfort_? I’d hate to see the divorce rate in Thrax if all newlyweds get shocked and slapped after they wed.” She finished, waiting.

“The Doctor.” The Magistrate intoned. It was her voice over the loudspeaker in the arena. It sounded no less formidable without the amplification. Her eyes slid to Yaz, “and Yasmin Khan. You two put on quite a show for our festivities. Not what I was expecting, but apparently exactly what the contingent wanted. Who knew the search and seizure team would come back with such a prize? You both are the toast of the event.” Her voice was honey-dipped, and she smiled smugly. 

“Still, I have a hunch that your marriage was somewhat, oh, spur of the moment. A union of convenience, shall we say. And that goes against the spirit of Thraxian law. We are nothing if not...methodical.” 

“Methodical? Methodical in your kidnapping too? Methodical in sending out a distress signal that lured us here? I don’t know much about Thrax, but I thought it had more honor than this type of _baiting_.” She gestured wildly, her teeth bared, darting up to the Magistrate and then stepping away. The Magistrate just watched, her eyes narrowed. 

“We came here under the guise of offering help, and you throw us into a death fight? For sport?” The Doctor’s voice had climbed to a near-yell. “How dare you!”

Yaz stood and wrapped her fingers around the Doctor’s bicep. It was flexed and hard. Yaz pulled the Doctor back against her. The Doctor was trembling. The time lord stilled at the contact and breathed out through her nose. The Magistrate watched the interaction with avid interest. She nodded and sniffed dismissively.

“I don’t know how you were brought in, not my department and all, but you’re here now, and my Director has decided he’ll be the judge of how true your declaration was in the pit. If he finds out you lied, well, the punishment…” she trailed off.

“Oh, let me guess,” The Doctor snorted derisively, “death, is it? Don’t suppose you’ll consider this all a misunderstanding and let us be on our way? Because you’ll find I don’t like being told what to do, particularly when it involves someone I love,” the Doctor finished, and then blanched visibly as she realized what she’d said. A flush crept across her throat. Yaz thrilled at her words. She moved around from behind the Doctor and wrapped the Doctor's arm around herself proprietarily, settling the Doctor's hand on her waist, covering it with her own. Under the circumstances, whether it was true or not, what the Doctor had just said seemed to have been the right thing for their captor to hear.

The Magistrate shook her head, and turned to go, before turning back again. “I’ll reprimand the guards. You are correct that they shouldn’t have treated you that way. I apologize. I’ll let you rest for now - it’s very late. We’ll continue this conversation tomorrow, and you'll meet the Director. He's not as...kind, as I am. Until then, felicitations. Enjoy your newly wedded _bliss_. And please, don’t try to escape. That would go poorly for you. Guards are stationed outside.” She paused and then walked over to them. Well, ‘walked’ wasn’t the right word, but Yaz couldn’t think of an apt description of what it looked like when the Magistrate moved. Rolled? Floated? 

Close up, the Magistrate was beautiful, skin almost obsidian. She lifted two hands up to touch the trackers in their necks. The Doctor flinched but otherwise stayed still. 

“I’ll have these removed tomorrow.” One of her other hands discreetly tucked something into Yaz’s front jacket pocket. Yaz blinked. The woman turned and moved to the door. She glanced back at the threshold, locking eyes with Yaz. “Ms. Khan,” she purred, “a distinct pleasure. Doctor,” her eyes darted back and forth between them. A serious look flitted across her features, like she was trying to communicate something else entirely and the Doctor frowned.

“You may call me Averat. Good night.” The door shut quietly and they heard a firm voice outside raised in admonishment. Sounded like the guards were getting a talking to. The tension visibly left the Doctor's shoulders. Her hand was still on Yaz’s waist and Yaz was reluctant to move lest it cause the warm hand to fall away.

She tucked her hand into her jacket and her fingers touched what felt like a heavy, cold metal object. She turned to the Doctor and unceremoniously pulled the other woman into a hug. The Doctor startled but then relaxed, tucking her chin into Yaz’s shoulder. Yaz reached down and stuffed the Doctor’s hand into the pocket with the object. 

She huffed into the Doctor’s ear what was barely a whisper. “Magistrate slipped whatever this is into my pocket just now. What do you think?” The Doctor brought her other hand up to the back of Yaz’s head and flexed her fingers, massaging Yaz’s scalp. Yaz hummed at the contact. The hand in her pocket probed along the length of the object, unwittingly tracing patterns against Yaz’s hip, and Yaz shuddered against her. 

The Doctor let out a quiet, surprised laugh. She turned her face and kissed Yaz softly on the cheek, close to her ear. She didn’t pull back, but moved her mouth against the skin. “Yaz,” she murmured, scarcely keeping the excitement out of her voice.

“I think it’s a _key_.”


End file.
